The New Girl
by beeeinyourbonnet
Summary: When Belle is forced to leave her fiance, she finds herself with three unlikely new roommates and a landlord she should hate as much as they do, but can't quite manage it.


_New Girl AU in honor of the rumbelle week on Tumblr-any AU day :DD_

* * *

The chair in which Belle sat had peeling leather, and was lumpy where the stuffing had clumped together. When she moved in, she would replace it with her newly upholstered armchair. If she moved in.

"You know, it's funny—when I read the ad, I thought you were all women," she said, rubbing her ankle against her shin where her legs were crossed.

The three men on the couch opposite her exchanged looks, then turned to glare at the man in the middle—the one wearing the khakis and a button down instead of jeans and an old t-shirt.

"Why would you think that?" he asked, crossing one leg at the knee and folding his hands to hold it there.

"Um." Belle nibbled the corner of her lip, hands pointed up as though the perfect inoffensive answer might fall from the ceiling. "Well, I mean, I think it was just the words you used—like 'cozy' and 'autumnal.' Although, very accurate, I realize, now that I see the loft."

"'Autumnal' was actually in the original description. I was just being true to our roots. Is that going to be a problem for you? Being true to yourself?" He tilted his head to the side, mouth scrunching as though he dared her to call him a woman again. This was not the best start.

"No! No, of course not. I—well, I don't—" She pressed her lips together. "Look, I really need a place to live. I was living with my best friend, Ruby, but she lives with her grandmother, and it was just really difficult to live with a parent figure again, and I just—your flat is beautiful, and please let me live here, please."

They exchanged looks again. "Loft meeting," the well-dressed one said. "I am calling a loft meeting with my boys right now. In the bathroom. Let's go."

"My boys is not a thing," one of the other men assured her in an Irish accent. "I swear."

"We never say my boys," the other agreed, sounding British, but they both got up and followed the third into the bathroom, shutting the door.

Belle tried to give them their privacy, but she was too curious by nature, and she was soon shuffling barefoot toward the bathroom door to listen in.

"—but there are definite cons as well." The British one was speaking now, and Belle inched closer.

"Pro—they have breasts, and those breasts will be there all the time. You will never have to go far to look at breasts."

Belle wrinkled her nose, then wrinkled the rest of her face at the murmur of agreement from the other men.

"Con—sometimes, when their husbands get angry that you are living with them, they try to cut your hand off."

"That's not a real con," the Irishman said. "That's just you being an idiot."

Belle pressed her lips together, unsure of whether she should laugh or be concerned. None of them seemed put together enough to be any sort of real threat—and the Irishman, at least, seemed sensible enough.

"Pro—they cook and clean, usually." More murmurs, and Belle couldn't deny this one—she took care of people she lived with. "Con—sometimes they get really crabby for no reason, and it's like walking on hot coals."

"I think we should say yes," the Irishman said. "She seems like she really needs a place to live."

"And," the sole American added, "she might have hot friends."

"I agree," the Englishman said.

"You are both idiots."

There was silence, and it took Belle a few seconds to realize that this was because they had started for the door, so she scurried backward as fast as she could. Her pantyhose didn't cling to the floor, though, so she was trying to get her balance still when they opened the door, and she froze with a leg in the air. All of them tilted their head in sync with each other, and she flashed them a nervous grin.

"So, um—what's the verdict?"

"You're in."

"I am?" She straightened up, lowering her foot to the ground. "Really?"

"Don't pretend you weren't listening at the door," the English one said, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, I'm Killian."

"Graham," the Irishman said, walking over to hold out his hand. She shook it.

"Whale. Doctor Whale, actually," the third said, booting Graham out of the way to shake her hand and wiggle his eyebrows at her.

"It's very nice to meet all of you. I'm Belle."

* * *

She arrived two days later, ready to move in, with a mattress, a suitcase, and a laundry basket. All three men watched as she, Ruby, and Granny lugged the mattress up the elevator and into the loft, then set it in the center of the room. Once they had gone in a flurry of disapproval and worry, Belle turned to unpack her suitcase into her laundry basket and found herself confronted by her three new roommates.

"Is this all your stuff?" Graham asked, gesturing to her suitcase.

"Um." She looked around at her sparse furnishings. "Yes."

"You only have one suitcase of clothes?" Whale asked, wrinkling his nose. "Who are you, these two?"

Killian and Graham exchanged looks behind Whale's back while he folded his arms and pursed his lips.

"Actually, it's only half clothes. Mostly it's books and toiletries. And I have my laptop bag out there with my purse, so really I'm all set."

"This is ridiculous," Whale said, striding over. "Do you even have sheets?"

"Of course I have sheets. In the suitcase." A comforter was a different story, but she could go pick up a new one tomorrow.

"How about a bed frame? Will that ever be arriving?"

"Well, actually—"

"And a dresser? And maybe some more actual possessions?" Whale tapped his foot. "You look like you're here to rob us."

"Lay off," Graham said, though he and Killian flanked Whale as though they were in perfect agreement.

"Well, you see, most of my stuff is at my ex's apartment, and I just haven't gotten it yet." She shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, but all three of them narrowed their eyes.

"You need to get your stuff," Killian said. He was met with nods from Graham and Whale. "You can't live like this."

"I'll get my stuff." She nodded, looking around at her bald room. "I just can't right now. You know? It's too soon. I mean it's only been a week."

"Since what?" Graham asked. All of them folded their arms in sync, as though connected by a string.

"Ah, well. I just left my fiancé because of a—um—conflict of interests." She tried to stand her ground, meeting their eyes bravely, but having three men stare at her with their jaws set and their arms crossed was unnerving.

"'Conflict of interests,' hmm?" Killian asked, looking away nonchalantly. "So he cheated on you?"

"Killian!" Graham hit him on the shoulder, but Belle sighed.

"Yes." She pressed her lips together. "So, I think I just need some more time to process it, if that's all right with all of you." She rested her hands on her hips, trying to soften the severe look by not jutting them too far out.

The three of them looked at each other, curling in so they formed a loose semi-circle between the three of them, and had a conversation using their eyebrows and hands. Graham nodded, then strode out of the room. Killian and Whale turned to her.

"Just wait a minute," Whale said.

Belle's gaze flicked to the door, then back to Killian and Whale. She swallowed, and they swallowed, and Killian started drumming his fingers against his arm. Belle cleared her throat. Whale cleared his.

"So—you're a doctor?" she said, looking at Whale.

"Yep. Going to work in a few hours, actually." He looked at his watch. "And you're…?"

"A teacher. Eighth grade English."

"Hot," Whale and Killian both said, nodding along.

"And you?" Belle asked, forcing down her blush. If she was going to be living with them, she was going to have to start to ignore anything distasteful they said.

"Bartender," Killian said. "I can get you drunk professionally."

"How thrilling." Her gaze strayed to the door again, and then there were footsteps and Graham appeared in a blue uniform with a sheriff badge pinned to his chest. That answered her question about his job—unless it was stripper.

"All right. Let's go."

"Go?" She frowned, looking him up and down. It was an even better view in the uniform.

"We're going to get your stuff." Killian started for the door. "I've got a truck. Should be able to fit plenty in it."

"What?" She hurried after as they all trooped after him. "I thought we agreed that I needed some time? You said it was okay!"

"No, we decided we should go get your stuff." Graham stopped and turned around, gesturing to himself. "I even put on my uniform, in case you need me to order him to give it back."

Belle was both touched and annoyed. "You can't just decide that I have to go see my ex. That's my decision to make!"

They all paused and turned around, brows drawn, and exchanged another look. She was starting to hate that look. This time, though, more sure of herself than last time, she folded her arms and stared them down.

"Well, we could take a loft vote," Graham suggested.

"No! My life is not up for vote."

"Look at it this way, love," Killian said, clasping his hands together. "If you only have half a suitcase worth of clothes, you'll be washing all the time, and our electric bill will skyrocket. If we don't get your clothes, we'll all have to pay more—but if we do, it may cause you emotional distress. Therefore, loft vote."

Belle pressed her lips together, but she supposed that was a fair assessment. "Fine. Let's go get the clothes."

"Oh, so now you don't want to vote?" Whale asked, folding his arms.

"I'm going to lose this vote. Let's just go and get it over with."

Killian's truck seated two comfortably, but the four of them managed to squish anyway, with Graham half on Whale's lap and Belle half on Killian's. As the sheriff, Graham probably should not have condoned it, but he looked so resigned that he must have been used to squishing. Belle tried to be as compact as possible.

"Well, while we're all here, we should tell you the rules," Whale said, fighting to thrust a finger in the air around Graham's arm.

"Rules?"

"Only a few," Killian said, gentling the truck around a corner. Whale and Graham both kissed their fingers and touched them to the ceiling.

"Every time he doesn't kill us on a turn," Graham explained at her confused look.

"Oh." She said, hastening to do the same when Killian grinned.

"Anyway, the rules," Whale said. "One, never ask to look at the lease."

"What?"

"You can't see the lease, Belle, it's in my name and I have it, and no one gets to see it."

"Uh." She blinked, shaking her head as if to rid it of something. "Okay. Next?"

"Next, and this is the most important rule—never contact the landlord."

"What?"

"Never contact the landlord," Killian repeated.

"Really?" Belle asked, looking at Graham for confirmation, but he looked just as serious as the other two.

"Never. Never contact the landlord," Graham said. "Unless you have a pint of blood to barter with."

"Is he a vampire?"

"Never contact the landlord," Whale said, like it was some sort of ritual chant. "Do you understand? Never. You can never, ever contact the landlord."

"Okay, fine." She raised both of her hands. "I won't contact the landlord."

Whale and Graham stared at her for a few seconds, as if trying to detect a lie, and then relaxed.

"Good," Graham said.

"Oh, it's that building." Belle pointed to a goldenrod apartment complex on their right. "Just pull in, there are no visitor spots."

Killian swung into the spot, sending them all careening to the right, and Graham and Whale both punched the back of his seat. Not wanting to break their car rituals, Belle added in her own fist.

"All right." He turned off the engine and twisted around to look at her. "Are you ready?"


End file.
